A Bad Day at the Grocery
by TheIcarusAlchemist
Summary: All John Watson wants is his jam. But when an enemy appears that threatens not only his fruit preserves but also his life, it's up to Sherlock and his before unmentioned powers to save the day. [Cover by @poetic-spn on Wattpad]


John glared at the chip and pin machine.

The chip and pin machine glared back.

"You," John said in a perfectly calm voice, "Are the bane of my existence."

The machine made a small beeping noise and said in a monotone: "Barcode not valid. Please scan again."

"I've scanned it ten times," John said, his tone switching from calm to pleading. "Please. I just want my jam."

"Barcode not valid. Please scan again."

John was close to tears now. "I don't think you understand how important this is to me. I need my jam." He desperately waved the jar of fruit preserves over the scanner.

"Exterminate," said the machine.

John smiled triumphantly. "Now that's more like- wait, what?"

"Exterminate." the machine repeated.

And then the grocery shop blew up.

*****

Sherlock Holmes had known this day would come. He just hadn't expected it to be so soon.

For years the chip and pin machines had been restless. Refusing to scan items, charging the customer more than the items actually cost... these little acts of rebellion had not gone unnoticed by the consulting detective. And now it had all come to its boiling point. John was in terrible danger, that much was for sure. Sherlock knew he wouldn't be able to reach him on time on foot.

Sherlock unlatched one of the windows of 221B and stepped carefully onto the ledge. He then spread his arms, leaned forward, and allowed himself to face-forward off the ledge. His coat immediately filled with air and stopped his fall. With a few flaps of his arms, Sherlock became truly airborne, soaring upwards like a gigantic Flomping Heirsensinger. (Note: The Flomping Heirsensinger is a large, jet-black bird native to the southeastern-most coast of Papua New Guinea. It's diet consists mostly of small mammals, small plants, and small packages of ramen noodles. It is called the Flomping Heirsensinger because it is a Heirsensinger and it makes a flomping noise when it flomps. You should know this. Do your research.)

As the detective propelled himself through the air, several people cried out and pointed at him.

"It's a bird!" yelled one.

"It's a plane!" shouted another.

"It's Severus Snape!" exclaimed a third.

"I resent that," Sherlock muttered.

But as Sherlock got closer to the grocery shop, the attention of those on the ground was largely directed at another airborne object.

It was the mother of all chip and pin machines.

Hanging in the sky in the exact way that a bird would if a bird were a three-story high, plastic check-out device, it cast its shadow over the grocery shop. People were running away, tripping and falling over the almost completely flattened foundation of the building. Sherlock zeroed in on a small figure wearing an off-white jumper. He executed a perfect dive and landed a few yards in front of John.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed "Did you just come out of the sky? Were you flying? What is going on? I was just trying to check out when the machine, it just-"

"You should probably duck about now," Sherlock interrupted. He tackled John to the ground just as a red laser beam sliced through the air where John's head had been a moment before.

"What-is-going-on?!" John demanded, beginning to hyperventilate.

"Don't panic," Sherlock said, as a few more lasers issued from the giant chip and PIN machine and vaporized a nearby freezer full of microwave dinners.

"Panic? Who's panicking?" John yelled.

Sherlock dragged the two of them over to shelter beneath an overturned shelf that had previously held the breakfast selection.

"What are we going to do?" John asked, in a forcibly steady voice.

"I'm afraid there's not much that can be done," Sherlock said grimly, pulling his coat tightly around himself. "Unless... no, I won't attempt that until the very last," he muttered, more to himself than to John. He examined John closely for the first time. "Why are you holding a jar of jam?"

John clutched the jam against his chest. "It's my baby."

"...Okay," Sherlock said, deciding that the matter wasn't worth pursuing at the present time, or ever, if he could avoid it. "John, we are almost certainly going to die. My sources suggest that every chip and pin machine in England, and most likely the world, has devoted it's energy into creating this one master chip and pin." He gestured to the behemoth levitating above them. "There is enough energy inside it to wipe the Earth clean of humans, several hundred kilometers at a time."

"Wait, you mean the chip and pin machines are evil?" John said. "But they're just these little check-out things..."

"Oh yes, they are very evil indeed," Sherlock said, a shadow darkening his face. "An even greater enemy than Moriarty."

"I resent that," said Jim, randomly popping up from beneath a pile of day-old bread. He was wearing a Westwood suit which was somehow still immaculate. He was also wearing a beanie, though if you were to ask him about it afterwards, he would deny it, and probably tie you to a bomb for good measure. So don't ask.

"Go away," Sherlock said. "My life sucks enough right now without you and your stupid beanie."

Jim scowled. "I will burn-"

"Yes, yes, I know. I would suggest running now. You might survive the lasers a bit longer."

A beam of light slashed down from the sky and burnt a hole clean through the sleeve of Jim's suit.

"Nooo, my Westwood!" Jim yelled, and ran away screaming.

"This is the kind of day I'm having," John said. "Weird around every corner."

"It's about to get weirder," Sherlock said. "John, there's one thing that I've never told you that I think you have the right to know."

"What?" John asked, clutching his jam for support.

"John Watson... does not exist."

John stared at Sherlock for a minute. Then he looked down at himself. It sure _looked_ like he existed.

"It is a false identity," Sherlock continued. "Your true name is Martin Freeman, and you are an internationally acclaimed actor. You were injured during a tragic accident on set in New Zealand, and lost all your memory. You were sent to me in an attempt to build you a new life, without which you surely would have gone insane. All your memories of before you moved into Baker Street are completely fabricated."

John had no idea how to take this. He felt as if his world was crashing down around him, which was probably at least partially because of the fact that the gigantic flying chip and pin machine was now sending its laser beams into the nearest neighborhood, causing a fresh wave of crashes and tremors.

"If it's any comfort, you won a BAFTA," Sherlock said.

"I don't _want_ to be an internationally acclaimed actor," John said weakly. "I just want to be able to be with my jam in peace."

"I understand," Sherlock said, getting to his feet. "And I will give you that future if I can. Goodbye John/Martin." Sherlock smiled at John one last time, then spread his arms and leapt into the air. This time however, he did not simply fly away. The billowing fabric of his coat grew larger and larger, until it seemed to be covering half the sky. Sherlock himself was growing too. He was becoming more reptilian, scales sprouting out of his skin and from his coat. Before John could fully register what had happened, Sherlock had changed completely into a dragon the size of two jumbo jets.

"I AM FIRE!" he bellowed. "I AM DEATH!" Dragon Sherlock launched himself towards the mother of all chip and pin machines, a jet of flame sprouting from his mouth. The sky lit up red with fire and lasers.

The last thing John remembered was a feeling of slight disappointment that he hadn't gotten to eat his jam before he died.

*****

John woke up in bed.

This was not strange at all.

The very unstrangeness of it was what made it so strange, since the last thing John could remember was lying in the ruins of a grocery shop while his best friend that had turned into a dragon attacked a giant chip and PIN machine in the sky.  
He got out of bed and cautiously walked to the kitchen. "Sherlock?"

"Oh, John, you're awake," Sherlock said, looking up from a beaker of bubbling liquid. "How do you feel?"

"Fine, I guess," John said. "What just happened?"

"You ate a bad bit of jam," Sherlock said. "I think it had been in the fridge for about eight months."

"And you didn't call the hospital?" John asked.

"My phone was at the other side of the room." Sherlock said, turning his gaze back to his experiment. "By the way, we need milk."

Somehow, it was impossible for John to stay angry with Sherlock. He was just so glad to be alive, and that he was still John Watson and not an amnesiac actor, and that Sherlock was still Sherlock and not a fire-breathing dragon.

"I need a shower," John said, heading into the bathroom.

The moment John had closed the door, Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket. He quickly tapped out a text.

 _"He doesn't suspect anything. Situation normal. -BC"_

He put his phone back in his pocket and cringed slightly at the exertion. Turning into a dragon always made his muscles ache for at least a week. And defeating the machines had been no easy task. Hopefully he wouldn't have to do it again any time soon.

Meanwhile, in grocery shops all over England, the chip and PIN machines were quietly doing their jobs. They seemed peaceful and innocent enough. But always, always, they were waiting. Waiting for a time when "Sherlock" won't be here to save the world...


End file.
